Corned Beef and Spam
by katyana
Summary: The cupboards are bare, so the Doctor is forced to do domestic for once.


This was inspired by the absolutely cracking website the BBC have made to run alongside the series – the quote is from the 'Contact Clive' section of the Who is Doctor Who website.

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**Mark: **I saw him in the supermarket buying spam and corned beef while muttering "She'll eat what she's given''._

"Doctor!"

He slammed the screwdriver down next to him and heaved himself up off the floor, as noisily as he could. "What now?" He called through into the next room.

"I'm hungry."

"Well get something to eat then! You've not lost the use of your legs, have you?"

"But there is nothing to eat!" She whined piteously. As he was still in a different room, he judged it was safe to roll his eyes.

"There must be something."

"Adam took it all. And don't roll your eyes like that. I'm ill."

Resigned, the Doctor went into the kitchen. Rose had a pretty bad touch of flu, and had been lying in bed for a few days. Partly because of this, Adam had taken the opportunity to visit his grandad in Suffolk, 2012. Leaving the Doctor to take care of the invalid.

"Ok, I get the hint. I'll go down to the shops. Anything in particular?"

This would be the third time this week he'd been forced to nip down to the shops. Regardless of the fact that the shops were in fact three miles down the road, and Rose refused to let him move the TARDS because it made her feel even worse.

"No, I don't… No, wait, I need some more tissues. Can you make sure they're-"

"Yes, I know, Kleenex extra soft. I got them last time. And the time before that, remember?" He said, slipping his jacket on.

"Look, don't go if you don't want to, I'll manage…"

"No, it's fine. See you later." Huffing slightly at the unfairness of it all, the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS and began to briskly walk the distance to the supermarket. It was November, and although it was only three o'clock, the streets were already getting dark. It was also very cold, his breath misting in the winter air.

By the time he reached the supermarket it was full dark and his nose felt like it was about to drop off with cold. He'd also managed to step right into a puddle by not looking where he was going, leaving him with one very wet, very cold leg, and an unpleasant squishing feeling when he walked.

Desperate to get back to the warmth and comfort of the TARDIS, he grabbed the first things he saw, muttering to himself all the while.

"Right. Tissues… Check. Food. Hmm. Yes. Ok, we'll have some of this, a bit of that, a couple of tins of these… And, yes, a pack of them. Oh, and I'll remember to take some of those this time. Humph. She'd better not complain this time. I'm certainly not trekking down here again!"

He hurried to the till point, earning himself a filthy look from an old lady with a large bottle of whisky clutched in her arms when he barged in front of her. She began making pointed comments about 'young people today', but he was oblivious, more concerned with looking over what he'd chosen for Rose.

"Alright, perhaps not the most… Inspired meal in the world. But she'll eat what she's given. Or she can come down herself next time."

His constant muttering and rather eclectic appearance were attracting some very strange looks off both his fellow shoppers and the cashier. Again, he didn't notice. He ignored the cashier's polite "Would you like any help packing?" and instead thrust a handful of change at her and rushed off, not even waiting for the receipt.

He walked back at double speed, anxious both to get out of the drizzle that had not started, and to get back to Rose. And the TARDIS, of course.

She was waiting for him in the kitchen, wearing a dressing gown and looking considerably better. "So, come on, what did you get?"

Wearily, he upended the carrier bag on the tabletop. Rose sifted through them eagerly, but her enthusiasm quickly faded.

"Spam... Ok, interesting choice. An orange pepper. Right. Tinned sweetcorn - and tinned prunes. How very thoughtful! Oh, and corned beef, in case I hadn't had enough processed meat already. And a packet of polos. You really don't do domestic, do you? Well, at least you remembered the tissues."

The Doctor stared at her in disbelief. He'd just walked – all that way, only for her to decide that she didn't want any of it!

"Oh, don't look like that! Look, I'm sorry, I'm still not feeling great. Look, I suppose I can try and make something…"

"No, you're ill. You'd only sneeze over it or something. Give it here. There are a couple of eggs over there aren't there? I'll make omelette."

And that's how they spent the rest of the evening – chatting amicably over a rather delicious omelette. And if he was honest, the Doctor wouldn't have it any other way.

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Please let me know what you think! 


End file.
